


Hope

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Major character death - Freeform, Sad, You Have Been Warned, like super sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It felt as if someone was sitting on his chest. He was struggling to get air into his lungs and failing each time, falling farther and farther into a hole, void of oxygen. The light sound of yelling and rapid beeping was all he could hear past the sound of water in his ears. He tried willing his eyes to open, move a finger, something other than lying still while he slowly dies, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t." </p><p>Just read it, you know you want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

It felt as if someone was sitting on his chest. He was struggling to get air into his lungs and failing each time, falling farther and farther into a hole, void of oxygen. The light sound of yelling and rapid beeping was all he could hear past the sound of water in his ears. He tried willing his eyes to open, move a finger, something other than lying still while he slowly dies, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t.

He was sure that if he could see, black dots would be filling his vision, but he couldn’t see. He could only feel. He could feel the weight on his chest, his brain combusting from lack of oxygen, and the small prick in his arm before he lost consciousness, again.

He had no clue how long this had been going on, how long he had been waking up without being able to move and chocking on a mysterious object, before feeling that pinch in his arm and blacking out again. He tried remembering how many times it had happened, but he couldn’t know for sure, sometimes he was back asleep within seconds and sometimes he was left suffering for so long he started getting feeling back. But the darkness was always there to take him back, like an endless hell.

His dreams were no better. Chuckie would die in most of his dreams, sometime it taking him so long to die he’s begging Thomas to just give him the sweet release of death, but Thomas couldn’t. It felt like he was disappointing the kid, denying his last wish, but how could he bring himself to do something so….evil. Euthanasia was a choice he couldn’t make, no matter how much he wanted to end the boy’s suffering. He had dreams of Teresa and him, in a lab working with computer programs his modified brain couldn’t comprehend, but he knew it was them creating the maze. At least those dreams were bearable.

Whenever he realized he was in a dream, he would try to wake up or to at least remember where he was, but came up empty. The last thing he remembered was Chuckie dying and then people in suits coming in and taking them all away. They resisted at first, but the room quickly filled with red gas and the burning in their eyes made them blind and vulnerable.

WCKD IS GOOD. WICKD IS GOOD. WCKD IS GOOD.

The words were constantly echoing in his mind, like a maxim. He didn’t want to believe it, but it kept pushing its way into his head. He was conditioned to feel certain ways, think certain things, and above all, trust Wicked. But, he would never give in, he would never believe. Giving in would be like raising a white flag, and even his subconscious had a strong wall built against them.

WCKD IS BAD. WCKD IS BAD. WCKD IS BAD.

Back and forth, back and forth, until the end of time. Unending. Infinite. Somethings just don’t change, maybe that’s what they want. They want him stuck in his mind, monitoring what he’s thinking and deciding what the next ‘maze’ will be like. They wanted war and bloodshed. They wanted insanity and heartache. They wanted to learn Thomas’ weaknesses and use them against him.

He Refuses.

“It’s time to wake up, Stiles.” A warm, soft voice said. It echoed in his head, bouncing off walls and reverberating, making his head pound. Consciousness was slowly coming back. His thoughts were finally getting in order, no longer scattered in different directions. _Who is Stiles?_

Feeling was coming back to his hands and slowly spreading throughout the rest of his body. The chocking feeling was gone and he welcomed breathe with open arms, making loud gasping noises. His fingers twitched, wishing a weapon of some sort was clenched in his hands, but alas, it was only a blanket.

Eyes snapped open, only to close tightly, burning from chemicals and bright walls. He blinked ferociously, fighting to study his surroundings, discover his captures. “Don’t push yourself, Stiles. You’re okay. You’re safe.” He could finally open his eye’s, the woman was blocking the light, making a bright hallo surround her. Facial features could start being distinguished but she moved before he could fully comprehend.

“Do you know where you are?” He pulled his hand to himself, but instead some type of material held him back, only making him fight more. “Woah, calm down.” The woman walks over to him and starts stroking the side of his face, but it does nothing to soothe him. “Stiles.” She says firmly. “I know you’re confused, but everything is okay now. You’re at the hospital.”

Thomas tries to speak, but all that comes out is a pathetic croak. “Oh, here.” She reaches over him, making Thomas flinch, but instead of hurting him, she sits back down with a cup of water in her hand. He looks at her wearily as she puts the straw near his mouth, causing her to roll her eyes, a fond smile on her face. “Doc says I can’t unstrap you. You were pretty violent coming back to us, it’s just a precaution.”

Slowly, Thomas takes the straw in his mouth and starts drinking. He takes a minute to inspect the woman before him, while she sits and watches him drink. She had dark, curly brown hair and brown eyes. Tan skin and laugh lines with crows feet, but somehow it just made her look more beautiful, but he could see a deep sadness in her eyes, it made his chest ache with sympathy for a woman he didn’t even know. “How do you feel?” She asked when he was finished. Thomas didn’t answer at first, instead looked at his surroundings, comparing it to what he could remember. “What kind of test is this?”

The woman looks confused at the question, but an underlying understanding is seen. “What?”

“What, you make me feel like I’m free and then put me in another maze? Who’re you guys gonna kill next? Huh? Newt? Minho?” His voice cracked, a deep darkness suddenly taking over. His chest felt hollow, as if he was going to collapse in on himself. “Thomas?” She asked, her eyes feeling with tears.

Thomas turned his head in answer, making her release a shaky breath. “We’re, uhm, we’re not Wicked. We’re against them.” She says trying to sound strong, but failing tremendously. Thomas doesn’t look back, refusing to make any more contact with them. He knows this is Wicked, and he refuses to play their games anymore.

Melissa takes on more look at his turned head, before standing and slowly making her way back to the awaiting Sheriff. This was always the hardest part ever since Stiles’ diagnosis, having to see his disappointment as she tells him he doesn’t remember, that he’s still in the delusion.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he’s lucid and the sarcastic Stiles they know and love, but he always goes back to being Thomas. The heartbreak on John’s face is something she wishes to never see again, but it always comes back again. Having to see him go through the same thing he did with Claudia, made her hate waking up in the morning.

When he was first diagnosed and the delusions weren’t bad, but like expected, they got worse. At one point her thought that Scott was a werewolf, Allison Argent a hunter, and many of their other schoolmates were other supernatural creatures, but the doctors said that was his way of coping. Death was hard enough but for someone like him, it was even harder to comprehend. It wasn’t surprising he couldn’t understand, who would be able to understand that 8 of his classmates died, one of them being his best friend, in his mental state.

After what happened to Scott, Melissa latched onto Stiles and devoted herself to helping him and John, but somedays she wished she could just give up and see her son again. But she had never been the selfish type.

Walking around the corner, Melissa spots John sitting in a seat in the corner, anxiously waiting. He had gotten a lot thinner since the diagnosis, with barely any hair left on his head and looking years older than his actual age. It was a sickening sight, one she subjected herself to everyday.

He looked up at her as she sat beside him, immediately putting his head in his hands, already telling by the look on her face he wasn’t with them today. Melissa put a hand on his shaking shoulder, silent tears starting to fall down her face. Because even though it had come routine as of late, for Stiles to not be lucid, she could never get used to the hope that got crushed each and every day.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you thought of it.


End file.
